Auld Lang Syne
by Gaia Faye
Summary: Times gone by.


**Disclaimer:** Don't own Silent Hill. Only own story itself. Ug.

**Author's Notes:** I know what you're thinking. "Uh, Gaia? New Year's was a week ago." I know, I know. I tried to get this out before then, but I wasn't happy with it at the time. But thanks to the fabulous beta skills of Sir **Literary Alchemist**, it has been completed! (Thank you, dahling!)I give you a New Year's Eve adventure throughout the Silent Hill ages! Er... except the first. For obvious reasons.

* * *

**Auld Lang Syne**

Heather walked with her head down, trying to shield her face from the cold air's bite with just the collar of her jacket. She hadn't known the hood had come detached when she had grabbed it, nor thought to snatch her scarf too while she screamed at Mrs. Collins before stomping out the door. If she wanted to visit her father's grave, she had every goddamn right to do so. Mrs. Collins-- not "Angie," as the woman insisted, as if she was some close friend-- had no place to say no and spout a bunch of crap about how they'd already been there on Christmas and how the New Year was a fresh start.

It wasn't as if Heather didn't want to move on. If she could do that, she'd be much happier. It just wasn't easy to put everything that had happened behind her. Her life was irrevocably and simply broken, her father's murder agonizingly snapping off a dear part of her. Of "her." Hell, she couldn't even be sure of who she was anymore. A soul with three identities? Three people in one body? All that and the destined mother of a god or a demon or who the hell knew what. All she knew was that she had managed to kill it. It was stuff a psychologist would've loved and put her away for. Only Douglas knew the truth, and he had a life to get on with; he couldn't hang around to coddle her. She couldn't talk about Silent Hill with anyone, not the social worker, not Mrs. Collins, not her friends.

They wouldn't understand. They _couldn't_ understand.

Heather grinned despite herself. "Cheer up, emo kid," she said quietly, white puffs dissipating in to the air.

Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket for the tenth time since she left the house, and she finally stopped and pulled it from her pocket. She quirked an eyebrow. It wasn't Mrs. Collins calling her; it was Erin. She thought about answering, but she didn't feel like talking to anybody. She just stared at it as it buzzed, and finally it stopped. She slipped it back into her pocket before the light went off.

She rocked back and forth on her heels, looking around the streets, trying to decide where to go. Just across the road was a not-so-swanky hotel. A small group of men and women were stumbling into it in peals of laughter. Down the way, she could see a brightly-lit convenience store. A bundled figure lurched away from it, into the street, nearly getting hit by a car. The figure made wild gestures at the beeping vehicle before tumbling to the curb and raising a paper-bag to its lips.

Heather's phone buzzed again. She took it out again and peered at the screen. She had a message. She dialed her voice mail and listened.

"_Hey, Heather, I know you said you wouldn't be up to it, but I really think you should just come on over." _There were several people talking over music in the background. " _There's_ _still plenty of time. It's not even eleven o'clock. You should really ring in the new year with friends, with a lot of buzz, you know? It's the perfect time to try and have a new start. And… I miss you, girl. Gina's boyfriend is being a real louse, but I stashed a bottle of green apple away just for you."_ A crash. "_And now the fucktard's gonna break my mom's collectibles. Get over here!"_

Heather erased the message and put the phone away. She thought about maybe catching a bus somewhere when she noticed that a car had pulled up beside her. She scowled, ready to tell the guy that not every girl on the street was looking to do losers a cheap favor, until she recognized the car.

"Douglas!" Heather exclaimed. She stooped down to look into the passenger side window. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," he said gruffly. "It's freezing out there. Get in the car."

Heather didn't argue, popping the door open and climbing in. She strapped herself in as Douglas drove off.

"Your guardian is a little worried about you."

Heather grimaced and rested her hand on the door handle. "You're not taking me back to her, are you?"

"Not if you don't want to go back," he replied with a smirk, knowing she probably would have jumped out of the car.

"Damn straight." Heather reached up and turned down the visor so she should see the mirror. She turned her head from side to side, confirming that her ears were bright red.

"She seemed nice. You like her?"

"Doesn't matter. Only there 'til I turn eighteen."

"And then what? You're just gonna be self-sufficient? What about college?"

Heather shrugged, flipping the visor back up.

"Don't count her as temporary just yet."

"What are you doing around here anyway? Got a case?"

"Just finished one. Simple cheating spouse investigation." Douglas sighed. "Some people really like to have more proof than they need."

"You were following some chump's cheating wife for Christmas?" Heather said, grimacing. "Happy Holidays."

"Actually, it was some broad's unfaithful husband."

The conversation stilted there. Douglas had driven them to the edge of the city. He took a right and coasted along the outskirts. The radio was off, but Heather didn't really mind the companionable silence.

"What do you think about it?" she finally asked.

"What do I think about it?" he echoed. "Well… Differently now. I told you that I'd been there before, and how… _strange_ that town had gotten. But after what happened with you… That town is a place to be reckoned with. But I certainly don't plan to do any more reckoning with it."

Heather had started shaking her head not long after he started talking. "No, no, what I mean is… _How_ do you think about it?

He glanced over at her, then set his eyes back on the road. "You mean…?"

"It's just so… utterly fucked up, you know?" she said. "I was just normal. Just plain normal. I had never really… remembered anything about that town until that day. But then she showed up and pulled me in. And it was Hell. Utter Hell. Dad was gone, and there I was all alone to fix something I wanted nothing to do with, to take some kind of responsibility. And then it was all over. I have nothing else, not even revenge. I suppose I could try to… I dunno… exorcize that town, but I'm not fucking _stupid_." She shook her head. "I am never, never going back there."

He didn't say anything for a moment. He made a right, heading back towards the core of the city. "You have something else. You have your life."

"Whoop-dee-doo."

"You have your friends, don't you? Your future?"

She laughed. "Yes, I can go right from Mother of God to bitter orphan."

"You can."

"Hey," Heather said brightly, flashing him a smile. "Let's say you and I go get smashed and bring in the new year, huh?"

He shook his head. "You don't want to start the new year off with some old man."

"Oh, come on," she pressed. "Who else should I be with? It's picture perfect. You and I know exactly what happened. We can commiserate without worrying about being locked up in the funny farm."

"Cheryl, I'm serious."

Her smile faded. "What's wrong?"

"You should be with your friends. Your father wouldn't want you to--"

"You don't know what my father would want," she said with an icy snap.

"I know what _a_ father wants for his child," he retorted. "Whatever happened back there is done. _Done._ You can't live the rest of your life thinking about it."

"Oh, so I should just _forget--_"

"I didn't say that," he cut in. "Forgetting is impossible. It's stupid. But if you think it's going to do something for your father or for yourself or for anything to torture yourself over it, you're a fool. I won't lie to you. We both know very well that it could all not be over just yet. But to wait for it to come back to you and to not make an effort to live in the meantime is ridiculous. It's not what a father wants for his child, no matter what she's been chosen for beyond her will."

Heather sank in her seat and folded her arms, pouting at the window.

"Besides," he added, "I'm a poor kisser."

Heather thwapped him on the arm. "Dirty old man."

"As long as you think I'm wise too."

"Hm." Heather let him drive around for a bit more as she mulled over what he had said. Then she sat up and and sighed, before asking, "Could you drop me off somewhere?"

"At Mrs. Collins' place?"

"No. I'm craving some green apple. All she's got is shitty sparkling grape."

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

"Ten…" began the count, steadily, "nine… eight… seven… six… five…" In lieu of picking up speed, the crowd grew louder as the numbers fell lower. "… four… three… two… one…" And with an explosion of voices and confetti and mindless optimism: "HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

"Woo hoo," James said morosely as he watched the celebration in Times Square from his recliner.

Perhaps he should have been depressed to be alone on New Year's Eve. But he had gone through Mary's illness, survived Silent Hill, and then spent the last ten years with all that on his mind. Depression was worn out, almost superfluous.

Even so, he did wish… He looked over to the table beside his chair, to the picture of himself and his late wife posed at the altar on their wedding day. For years James had banished it to the attic, ashamed to even look at such a betrayed memento of the past, but tonight, gripped by something, he had retrieved it from a dusty box, polished it, and set it beside him.

He smiled sadly. If only Mary could be there with him.

If only he wasn't such a weak fool.

But he was weak. And he didn't deserve to have her here with him. He deserved to be alone. He'd accepted that a long time ago, saying nothing to Laura when she started to spend more time with her friends, including New Year's sleepovers. He didn't bug her to come back for weekends when she went off to college this past September. He didn't bother his father, who'd be having enough of a time dealing with drunken tenants. To him, it would be supreme gall to expect the company of anyone.

There was a knock on the door. James stared at it for a moment, wondering if maybe some drunken neighbors decided to make some boisterous rounds. He locked the chair upright and got up, going over to the door. When he opened it, his jaw dropped. "Laura?"

"Shit, I'm late!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. A paper bag in one of her hands bounced heavily on his back. She drew away and kissed him on the cheek. "Happy New Year, bonehead," she giggled.

"Laura?" he repeated.

She rolled her eyes at him and pushed him inside. "It's goddamn cold as hell out there!" she said, pulling the door shut with a satisfied glare to the outside. She turned back to James and shrugged. "If Hell was cold."

James finally laughed. "I thought you were gonna spend the night at what's-her-face's after her party."

"Very eloquent."

He rolled his eyes knowingly. "Did you have another fight?"

Laura moved into the kitchen. "I… I just get along with people at my maturity level."

"Really? Since when have you acted like an adult?"

"That doesn't say much for you, does it?" she shot back, but her grin faltered. "Yeah, we had a fight. She's a stupid bitch, and that's really about it."

"That usually is about it," James said, recalling all the other fights between Laura and her friend since she'd been in junior high school.

"Well, you go on to college, things change, blah de blah de blah." She raised the bag to eye level. "So I decided _we_ should toast the New Year together."

James felt his chest tighten and shook his head as she set it on the table. "Laura, you know I shouldn't be drinking…" He trailed off when she reached into the bag and pulled out a plastic bottle of cola.

"I prefer caffeine over alcohol, really," she said, delving into the paper again and pulling out two cheap plastic wine glasses. She set them out and looked up at him again. "You should've tasted this _awful_-- hey. What's the matter?"

James hadn't cried in years, since the day he finally arrived back home from Silent Hill. He was struggling to maintain his composure, but Laura reached over and touched his arm, and all he could do was bring his hands to his eyes.

"James!" Laura exclaimed, unable to stop gaping at him. She put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed in an attempt to be reassuring . "What… I didn't know you liked Coke that much!" She laughed, trying to alleviate the mood.

He tried to laugh too. His voice was thick. "I'm sorry. It's late. I'm tired… I…"

"You thought I didn't care about you?"

"It's not like that," James said quickly. "I mean I understand if you wouldn't, even though I know you don't, but after everything, it's not like you _owe_ it to me…" He trailed off, trying to get a hold of himself. Oh, God. He'd just been berating himself for weakness, and now he was weeping all over the place.

"James."

Her voice made him look up, while hastily wiping the wetness from his eyes and shifting his face into a stony expression.

She was looking back at him with an exasperated expression that he knew very well. "Don't be a goddamn idiot," she sighed. "I forgive you. You know that. You told me everything, and I forgive you. There's nothing to be done about it now. You shouldn't punish yourself needlessly for something you did out of love."

He immediately started shaking a finger in her face. "No, no, not just out of love, I _told_ you that I was tired and angry and I just--"

"Nobody has conflicting motivations ever. Right."

James gaped at her. "You can't just filter it all to 'conflicting motivations'."

"I've never been very poetic." She shushed him before he could go on. "People help the less fortunate not just because it's the right thing to do, but because it makes them feel good. Some people steal to feed their family.

"You're making it too simplistic," James insisted. "How can you even say all of this? Mary was practically your mother."

"I've had a long time to sort out my reasons," she said. "Plus I knew back then that Mary would want me to forgive you, to give you a chance and understand you. And I think I do. If I had found out that you didn't have any regret at all, believe you me, I would have gone to the police." She paused in speech as she opened up the soda bottle. "But I trusted Mary and really gave you a chance, and she was right."

"Laura…"

"No one is saying that it was right," Laura said with finality. "But it's not as if you haven't been punished by your own guilt."

James kept his stony expression, though he sometimes thought it seemed like Laura knew what had happened in Silent Hill that foggy day. More than just the eerie absence of human life: the staining blood, the eternal decay, the pressing darkness, the mental ravishment, and the monsters, the creatures, the abominable manifestations dragging their tools behind them on the cold concrete, an accusing shriek piercing the heavy air.

"There is only one judgment that is left for you," Laura said, her insistent voice rooting him in the present. "And that is the judgment of God." She gestured around the kitchen. "And since I don't see Him around anywhere, I guess He's decided to withhold it for now. So." She poured the soda into plastic wine glasses and handed one to James. "Buck up and toast the new year, and you best as hell enjoy my company." She raised her cola expectantly.

James couldn't help it. He smiled and tapped his glass to hers.

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

The door to Eileen's apartment swung inwards, and she would have fallen into the entryway if Henry hadn't been at her side. She burst into giggles and he chuckled along with her as they stumbled inside. Henry had barely closed the door when she pounced on him, shoving him against the wall and rising on her toes to suffocate him with a kiss.

He couldn't help but stare at the floor when she pulled away, and she broke into giggles again. "Oh, jeez, you're shy even when you're stone drunk!" she exclaimed.

"You're not so sober yourself," he replied, taking her hand and pulling her into the living room. "I think we better, ah, better--"

Eileen stumbled again and grabbed onto his shirt, pulling him down too when she managed to collapse onto the couch. "Sit down?" she finished, suppressing drunken hysterics.

"Yeah," he said, putting an arm around her and pulling her close, enjoying her body warmth.

She snuggled up to him. "Before we left, my mom told me she likes you."

"Well, you'll have to tell her that I am currently attached."

Eileen snorted and nuzzled his shoulder. "I should tell my sister too. I was ready to kick her butt."

"She was just… friendly."

"Yeah, and if I had left you alone with her she woulda been as friendly as to undo your pants."

Henry felt his face get warm. "Well, thankfully you're quite possessive."

"Damn straight," she said, slipping her arms around his waist.

"My mom liked you too, you know."

She smiled. "Really?"

"Jesus, you should've heard her on the phone the other day. 'Oh, darling, she's a dear! The sweetest, prettiest thing! When are you getting married?'" Henry stopped here. He hadn't meant to include the last part.

Eileen chuckled. "I'm glad."

Henry inwardly sighed in relief that she hadn't said anything more.

"What does your dad think of me?"

"Who gives a shit?" Henry grumbled.

She giggled. "Daddy issues."

"Better than Mommy issues," Henry couldn't help saying.

And both their minds immediately fell back to the events of less than a year ago.

"Well, that certainly fucked up the mood," Henry grunted.

"I don't think we'll be able to _not_ think about that until after quite a few more years anyhow," Eileen pointed out.

"Well, in celebration of a fresh year, we should try not to think about it."

"Yeah. Last year… last year went… not so well… but…" She grabbed his hand and intertwined their fingers. "But I think this year…" She yawned, snuggling close against him. "I think this year will be great."

"Me too…" He sat with her for a moment, before saying, "I really have to piss."

"Thanks for ruining the moment yet again," she giggled.

"I'll be right back," he said, standing up and nearly tripping over his own two feet. He stumbled over to the bathroom. He managed to get situated without breaking his neck and tended to the call of nature. And as he stood there, holding himself and listening to fluid splash into liquid, he considered where he'd been and where he was now and how incompatible they were.

Really, it was Walter and his ritual that just did not fit in with everyday existence. But the memory of it was so persistent, that every day after and even the days before it just seem awkward and stunted. But although Henry had thought it would be difficult to move on, it was surprisingly simple. After all, what else could he and Eileen do? Walter was gone, the ritual was unfulfilled, and without the Conjurer there was no point in anyone finishing the job.

So they hoped.

Sometimes Henry thought about Silent Hill. Joseph, the journalist who'd managed to help Henry despite his own fall to the ritual, had said in his notes that he was sure the Order was still active somewhere, and Henry thought there'd be no other ideal place than the resort town. He considered talking to the cops once, but quickly realized he'd sound like a loon. He didn't even have any evidence for an anonymous tip. The only other option was to somehow handle it himself, but that idea was singularly stupid, and not just because he knew perfectly well what the cult was capable of.

The town itself-- just thinking about it-- gave him a very bad feeling. Its serenity seemed like nothing more than luring danger. The fog wasn't intimate; it was masking. The sunny days that developed when Henry was there a few years ago were a welcome leading him into fatal purpose.

The town in and of itself should just be inanimate things-- houses and trees and attractions. But Silent Hill, several months ago, had somehow been revealed as a very dark place. Before, he had always brushed off the strange stories that had given the town its eerie reputation, but compounded with how the cult had centered itself there, Henry had concluded that there was much more to it than simple spooky stories.

Of course, he refused to venture there again to figure out exactly what, or at least more than what he and Eileen had been subjected to.

It was at this point in his hazy thoughts that Henry realized he was done and had just been staring dumbly at the wall above the toilet. He shook himself from his daze and put himself away before flushing.

When he got back to the couch. Eileen was asleep, head tipped back and snoring lightly. He pulled a blanket off the back of the couch and sat beside her, adjusting her so that she lay against him, and covered them both with the blanket.

As he drifted off to sleep, he hoped that every night could end like this.

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**oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

I thought maybe to give the fic more variety that I would have James in the crazyhouse. But, uh, it definitely works better this way.

Have a Happy New Year, everyone!


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